


that’s the kind of love (i’ve been dreaming of)

by binchmarner, PeaceSign_MiddleFinger



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Ass Play, Come Eating, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub Undertones, Fluff, Getting Together, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Multi, NateMacK eats ass, Praise Kink, Safe Sane and Consensual, Smut, celebratory blowjob, hat trick blowjob
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-02
Updated: 2019-12-02
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:24:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21646675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/binchmarner/pseuds/binchmarner, https://archiveofourown.org/users/PeaceSign_MiddleFinger/pseuds/PeaceSign_MiddleFinger
Summary: When Colesy gets hurt, Conor gets called up to play with the Avs. He’s thrilled to be playing with Cale again. When he scores his first nhl hat trick, Nate steps up to fill Gabe’s shoes in more ways than one.
Relationships: Cale Makar/Conor Timmins, Nathan MacKinnon/Cale Makar/Conor Timmins
Comments: 11
Kudos: 68





	that’s the kind of love (i’ve been dreaming of)

**Author's Note:**

> BRING TIMMINS UP.
> 
> Title of the fic comes from hozier’s song [dinner & diatribes.](https://youtu.be/HlLx7oE7q3I)

Conor gets called up right before the Avs play the Blackhawks at home––Colesy gets hurt and Sakic calls him, says _you’re in the show now, kid,_ and Conor doesn’t really know what to do. 

So he does the only thing he knows how to do. 

He calls Cale. 

“I’m coming home,” Conor says, laughing. He doesn’t particularly like Loveland, prefers his apartment with Cale better, even if Josty and JT are doing their “we’re not together we’re just neighbors” thing on the same floor.

“Wait, seriously?” Cale says, his voice staticky on the other side of the line. They’re in Chicago, and Conor sort of wishes he were there. He hears there’s a really nice German Christmas market he and Cale could’ve slipped away to.

But, he’s home now, and he’ll take what he can get. ”Yeah, I guess Bednar finally decided to stop pulling up every other defenseman on the Eagles and let me come back to fill in for Cole.” He tries not to let resentment color his voice–– he’s getting way more minutes in Loveland than he would with the Avs, and after so long off, the fact that he’s even _there_, much less being called up to play with the big boys is remarkable–– but it still stings that he’s had to be away from Cale all this time. 

“I’m so proud of you,” Cale says, voice soft even over the phone. “You’re going to be great. Will you be home before we land? I should be back by 10, I think.”

“I’ll be there. I’m literally throwing some clothes in a bag and heading down.” Conor lays back on the bed. Werner’s downstairs, but if he makes too much noise, he’ll still be chirped–– _on the phone with your boyfriend, Timmy?_

“You’ve still got your stuff at home, don’t forget,” Cale chuckles. 

“Cale, baby. You know I have to wear suits to games. I can’t just wear your shirts and boxers.” Conor snorts.

“You sure? You’d look real pretty,” Cale says, and Conor’s really glad no one else is around to hear the noise that just escaped from his mouth.

“Shut up,” he mumbles. “I have to wear like, at least pants. Aren’t your teammates on the same floor as you?”

“They’re _our_ teammates now, Con,” Cale says. “And nothing says you have to wear pants at all while you’re down here. You don’t even have to wear anything.”

“Okay seriously, you’re going to get fined,” Conor says, and Cale lets out a laugh. 

“I’ll happily pay any fines for you,” Cale says. “Get your clothes and come home.”

“I would already be on my way if _someone_ wasn’t trying to convince me I didn’t need clothes,” Conor says with a laugh. “Have a good flight back, I love you.”

“I love you too,” Cale responds, and then hangs up. Conor allows himself thirty seconds to grin and flail in excitement, and then he gets off the bed and grabs his suitcase and garment bag. He waves to Werner as he passes through the living room.

“You off to Denver?” Werns asks. “Have fun. Kick Chicago’s ass.”

“Will do, man. See you around.” 

Conor manages to actually hang the garment bag in the back seat instead of just pitching it in and getting his suits all wrinkled, but it’s a near thing. He’s plugging his phone into the stereo and checking google maps to see how terrible traffic on I-25 is going to be when he gets a text from “🐎🐎🐎🐎”.

“Fucking christ––” Conor says, unlocking his phone. He looks at the message and rolls his eyes.

_$100. Excessive flirting. Welcome back to the team._

**Shouldn’t you be fining Cale? I’m not on the team yet, I’m not even in Denver.**

_Who, Saladboy?_

_Are you throwing your boyfriend under the bus?_

**Hypothetically?**

_I like your spunk._

_$150._

Conor chokes on air. 

**Why?**

_Don’t rat out your teammates._

Conor has a brief moment where he regrets every choice he made that led him to playing professional hockey. 

_But really, we’re excited to have you back up with the team._

Conor smiles. They’re all giant assholes, but he really does like the team. 

**Thanks, EJ. See you tomorrow!**

_See you then, kid. Don’t forget money for the fine ;)_

Conor nearly responds with “you text like an old man” - seriously, who still types out smiley faces? - but decides that silence is less likely to get him saddled with an extra fine. Besides, he’s got an hour and a half of terrible highway traffic to wrestle with, and he’d like to get a jump on that.

\---

The drive is predictably terrible, full of inexplicable slowdowns immediately followed by miles of nearly empty road, but he turns into the apartment complex with plenty of time to spare before Cale is likely to be back.

Conor walks into his apartment and smiles, the months of anxiety of whether or not he actually is ever going to become _something_ in the NHL falling away. He sighs, shouldering the bag and walking into their room, something like muscle memory telling him exactly where to go.

Loveland was never home the way Denver is.

He smiles as he hangs up his suits and unzips his bag, putting his clothes in his space in the dresser that Cale never cleaned out. He always left Conor’s clothes in the dresser under the guise that Conor was coming back sooner than he did. Conor takes a moment, smoothing the last sleep shirt over the top, and smiles when he realizes who it actually belongs to.

It’s Cale’s old shirt from UMass that Conor stole the night before he’d been sent down. It doesn’t really smell like Cale anymore, but seeing the sixteen over his chest, knowing that Cale once wore it… it’s just a lot to think about.

His clothes are unpacked and his suits are hung up and it’s like…

It’s like he never left.

It’s not that late, but after finding Cale’s shirt in his drawer, all he wants to do is change into something cozy and wait for his boyfriend to get home, so he pulls the maroon shirt and a pair of flannel pants out and changes. He wanders out to the living room and flips on the TV, burrowing into a blanket or three, figuring he can catch the game highlights or something while he waits for Cale. 

NHL Network delivers, showing a truly filthy MacKinnon goal off of Cale’s assist from at least four different angles. It’s obscene how good the two of them are, and Conor still gets a thrill from knowing that he gets to play with them. He also wants his boyfriend to get home soon so he can reward Cale for that assist, because god damn, was it hot. 

After the highlights, he switches to whatever’s good (aka Disney+, thank you Cale’s inner child) and turns on Mulan. Li Shang is singing about how he’s going to make a man out of Ping (which is kind of gay, Conor’s not going to lie) when he hears the door unlock. 

“Conor?” he hears Cale call, and his heart is fit to burst, smiling as he sits up from his blanket cocoon. 

“In here!” Conor says, pausing the television. Conor can hear Cale’s chuckle, light and melodic echoing through the quiet apartment. He walks into the room, smiling when he looks at the television.

“I see you’re just using me for my Disney+, and you know what?” Cale asks, pushing up his glasses. Conor grins.

“I’m absolutely correct and valid and you should give me your password for when I go on road trips?” Conor asks, tucking his face back into his blanket.

“Oh, I should, should I?” Cale raises an eyebrow, smiling.

“Yeah, man, the AHL roadtrip life is way less glamorous than the NHL, I need comfort in the form of animated classics.”

“And here I was, thinking you loved me, but no, you’re just using me to ogle Shang,” Cale says, bringing a hand to his chest in faux-shock. 

“Can you really blame me though?” Conor asks, schooling his face into his most serious look. He lasts about three seconds before he breaks and giggles. “Come here,” he says, holding out his arms and flapping his hands. 

Cale comes easily, sliding onto the couch and tucking himself into Conor’s arms. “Missed you.”

“I missed you too. So much,” Conor says, pulling Cale closer. He leans down for a kiss, meaning for it to be sweet, but seconds after their lips touch, it becomes hungry and desperate. Conor hums against Cale’s lips, pulling Cale into the blankets and onto his lap. “God, your assist was so hot tonight.”

“You watched?” Cale asks, smirking. 

“I watched the highlights. God, one day you’re going to get into a fight and I’m not entirely sure what I’m going to do with myself,” Conor says, flushing as he kisses down Cale’s neck, leaving a mark.

Cale shivers. “Yeah? You want to see me fight, baby?”

Conor nips at Cale’s collar bone. “No, because I don’t want you to get hurt, but also, when you get fired up? Oh my god, it’s so fucking hot, you have no idea.” Conor works to unbutton Cale’s shirt, exposing more skin to map with his mouth. 

“You know if any of the big guys are out on the ice, I’ll never get into a fight,” Cale says, threading his fingers through Conor’s hair. “You really think I’d even have time to drop my gloves before Nate or Z would be there? And once Gabe and EJ and Calvy are back, no one will even be able to look at me wrong.” 

“There you go, bringing logic into it,” Conor grumbles. “Can I suck your dick?”

Cale goes a deep pink, flush running down his neck and across his chest. “Please,” he breathes. 

Conor slides to the floor and moves between Cale’s legs. He grins up at his boyfriend as he moves to open Cale’s fly and is rewarded with a moan. 

“God, I missed you,” Conor says as he tugs Cale’s pants off. “Missed your cock.”

Cale reaches out and runs his thumb along Conor’s lower lip. Conor opens his mouth and licks at it before sucking it into his mouth. 

“Fuck, your mouth, Con. You’re so good.”

Conor whimpers around Cale’s thumb before popping off, mouthing over Cale’s hardening dick in his boxers. Cale gasps, threading his fingers through Conor’s hair and tugging gently. Conor pulls back and pulls Cale’s boxers off.

He licks a flat stripe up Cale’s dick, wrapping his mouth around the head and sucking gently, teasing. Cale gasps, gripping Conor’s hair, and Conor moans.

“Fuck, _baby_,” Cale says, and it sends a shock of arousal through Conor. He’s so turned on and he hasn’t even been touched yet.

Conor opens his mouth, taking Cale down until he can feel the head of Cale’s dick at the back of his throat, then teases along the length with his tongue as he pulls back off. He wraps his hand around it where it’s slick with spit and gives a couple slow strokes as he grins up at Cale. “God, I missed you. I missed _this_. It’s just not the same, seeing you over FaceTime.”

Cale shudders as Conor twists his wrist up, leaning forward to cup Conor’s cheek. “I know. But you’re here now, yeah?”

“Yeah,” he smiles, and pauses a moment, though he continues stroking Cale’s cock. “You should come on my face.”

Cale makes a punched out noise, his cheeks flushing as his hips jerk up. “You can’t just say that Con––”

“No? I shouldn’t tell you how much I’ve wanted it for months?” Conor asks, tightening his fist and jerking Cale off faster. “I shouldn’t tell you that I wished that it was my fist you were coming over when you fucked your fist for me on FaceTime?”

“Con––” Cale begs, his head thudding back against the couch. “You’re gonna kill me.”

“I’ll even open my mouth, look all pretty for you, yeah?” Conor grins, opening his mouth sticking his tongue out. He chuckles when Cale whimpers above him.

It’s only a few more strokes before Cale is coming across Conor’s face and tongue with a moan. Cale stares for a minute at the mess on Conor’s face before dragging him up into a fierce kiss. 

“Fuck, Con, that was so hot, oh my god. Do you have any idea how good you look?” 

Cale manages to get his hand into Conor’s pants before he can even try to respond. Cale starts to jerk him off, then leans forward and licks a line of come from Conor’s cheek. Conor is suddenly desperate to come. 

“Please,” he whimpers, and Cale speeds up his hand. It’s awkward, with the way Conor is half in his lap, but Conor is so turned on that it doesn’t matter. He thrusts as best he can, chasing the friction of Cale’s hand. 

“Please what, baby, c’mon,” Cale says, kissing down Conor’s neck, leaving a mark that will surely saddle them with another fine. 

“Make me come, Cale,” Conor begs. Cale tightens his grip and in a handful of strokes, he’s coming in his sleep pants. “Fuck, _Cale_.”

“Liked that, did you?” Cale grins. They’d tried out the _asking for what you want during sex_ over FaceTime, but in person, it just seemed so much more, leaving Conor with prickly skin that felt hotter than it probably is.

“Shut up. Come here,” Conor says, slotting their lips together in a kiss, sleepy and sweet.

“I missed you,” Cale says between kisses. “I knew you were going to come home sometime soon, but I missed you so much.” 

Conor can feel himself blush at that. He feels like he might never get used to Cale’s unwavering belief in him. He doesn’t have a good response, so he just kisses Cale again and hopes he understands. 

“Not that I’m not really enjoying this,” Conor says, pulling away, “but I am _super_ gross now, so I need a shower. You’re welcome to join if you want.”

“As long as that’s not an invitation for round two, I’m in. We do have a game tomorrow.” Cale smirks. 

“Babe, I love you, but we’re definitely keeping it PG in the shower. I refuse to be too tired to play well because we were up all night. Now, tomorrow night…” he trails off with a wink and hops off the couch. 

Cale smacks his ass as he turns, then gets up and follows him to the bathroom.

\---

“Conor!” EJ calls from his stall when Conor and Cale walk in for morning skate. “I see you had a good night.” 

Conor furrows his brows and looks at Cale, whose eyes are wide. Cale points at his neck incredibly inconspicuously—like seriously has he ever tried to keep something from someone before?

“He got hit in the neck with a puck,” Cale says easily.

Ok so. No he hasn’t. 

“Okay no,” JT says, taping up his socks. “He’d be dead.”

“But that’s what you say whenever we––” Josty begins.

“It never works for me, so it’s not going to work for them,” JT’s eyebrows are practically to his hairline. “Hickeys are a fine, right?”

“They sure are,” EJ says gleefully. “Hope you brought extra cash, rookie. You’ve got a lot of fines to pay today.” 

“How do you already owe so many fines?” Sam asks from EJ’s other side. 

“EJ’s an asshole, mostly,” Conor responds. 

“Yeah, I want a second take on this,” Cale adds. “Can we really be fined for a phone call he wasn’t a part of? It’s not like we said anything in the group chat. I want Gabe’s thoughts on this.”

“First off, _salad man_,” EJ says. “You were standing right next to me talking about a certain defenseman not wearing any clothes in your apartment. That’s hardly asking for privacy.”

“You had your headphones on!” Cale’s face is flushed to the point where Conor knows that if he took his shirt off, it’d probably have already spread to his chest. 

Not that Conor is any better, mind you.

“Rule number one of fines and EJ,” Sam says, looking at Conor and Cale with hooded eyes. “EJ knows all. Will know all. There is no escaping a fine.”

“I hate it, thanks!” Conor says.

“Yeah, ominous as fuck, dude,” Cale says. 

Sam breaks into a smile and shrugs. “He has minions, and he’s not as dumb as he looks.”

“Thank you!” EJ says. “Hey, wait, woah, woah, wait a minute––”

“Can we please all get ready for practice sooner rather than later? Not that I don’t love poking fun at EJ, but if I get bag skated today because the rookies don’t understand EJ’s demonic fining powers, _I’ll_ fine you guys,” Nate, de facto captain while Gabe’s out, says.

No one wants to piss Nate off, especially on game day, so they all manage to behave as they finish getting ready and head out to the ice. 

Morning skate with the Avs is–– it’s hockey, like it always is, but between being at Pepsi Center and being out there with the likes of _Nathan MacKinnon_, it’s so much more intense than it ever is with the Eagles, and Conor is nearly giddy with how excited he is to be back up. 

It takes a little effort not to get distracted watching Cale do drills, but it’s easy to get focused again when he reminds himself that the better he does in the game tonight, the more likely he is to stay up. 

It’s all worth it when Bedsy looks at him, nods, and says “you’ve improved, kid.” Like! Wow!

Even Nate skates up to him and knocks his shoulder against Conor’s. “We missed you, Timmy. It’s not the same without you.”

Conor feels like he’s flying, like he could do anything.

Now to just play the game.

\---

“Blue suit or black?” Conor asks, his head ducked in the closet. He has a three-piece blue suit and a regular black suit, and it’s honestly difficult to choose. 

“I’m wearing burgundy, so wear blue. We’ll be chirped, but we’re the only ones repping together,” Cale grins, wrapping his arms around Conor’s waist. Conor smiles, turning in Cale’s arms.

“You’re an idiot. I love you.” He smiles.

“I’m an idiot? No one else is color coordinated like we are. I’m a genius!” Cale pouts dramatically and Conor just has to kiss him. 

“Fine, you’re a genius. Can we get ready, please?”

“Okay,” Cale says. “One more kiss and then I’ll let you go.” 

It’s objectively not a great kiss, since they’re both smiling, but Cale is true to his word and lets go of Conor after so they can both get dressed. 

Unsurprisingly, Cale was right. Standing next to him in the bathroom, Conor looks in the mirror and they really are a perfectly matched set of Avs colors. Cale catches his eye in the reflection and smiles. “What did I tell you? We look great together.”

“I knew that before we matched,” Conor grins. 

“Flirt. You’re gonna score tonight,” Cale says, hooking his chin over Conor’s shoulder. 

Conor furrows his brows, looking at Cale. “Yeah?”

“Yep. I’ve got a feeling. My feelings are never wrong,” Cale says.

“Oh really? _But Timmy, we can care for a kitten_,” Conor says, teasing. Cale gasps.

“Can you _blame_ me? They brought us to the adoption center and the cat’s name was _Hobbes_. Where was your childhood?” Cale says. “Where is your humanity?”

“With Marvel,” Conor deadpans. “If there was a cat named Loki, we could’ve talked.”

“Absolutely not. We’ve gotta at least name a cat Cap. Ooh! Or Bucky!” Cale says, grinning.

“Okay, no. We’d name the cat the only acceptable cat name: Goose,” Conor says with an air of finality.

Cale is silent for a second. “You’re a genius,” he says quietly.

“Guess we’re just a couple of geniuses over here,” Conor responds, leaning to bump his shoulder against Cale’s. 

\---

When Bedsy announces the starting lineup before warm-up, Conor nearly falls over. He came in expecting to get maybe 10 minutes of ice time - he’s the call-up, he’s not getting top-four minutes. But no, Coach reads out starters, and “Number 8, Cale Makar, and number 20, Conor Timmins. In goal, number 39, Pavel Francouz.” 

Z throws an arm around him and gives him a little shake. “Look at you, rookie!” 

Conor’s jaw drops and he looks across the locker room at Cale, who’s looking at him with a bright grin and two thumbs up. “You’ve got this!”

He laughs, feeling his chest tense up at the idea. He might rack up fifteen, twenty minutes on the ice, which is insane to think about. Conor hopes he does well.

He doesn’t really realize what’s going on until EJ’s crouched in front of him, smiling toothless at him. “You okay kid?”

“Yeah, yeah. It’s just––I didn’t expect it.” Conor shakes his head, trying to fight off impending anxiety.

“You know you’re good enough for this. Bedsy wouldn’t have put you on the first pair if he didn’t think you could do it.” EJ says, and there’s not a trace of joking in his face. He’s being genuine, like he’s truly worried about Conor. “You’re gonna be out on the ice a lot, but he had me and Nate look at the tapes from your games with him, and you racked up a lot of points, man. You’re good.”

Conor nods. He can do this, yeah. “Yeah, definitely. Thank you,” he says, breathing easier than he had before. 

“Hey Cale, JT assisted on two of my goals on my first hattie. Can you top that?” Josty grins.

“Bet I will,” Cale grins, throwing a ball of tape at him. “Just you wait.”

\---

The crowd is electric as they take the ice to start the game. There’s more Chicago red than anyone wants, but the Avs fans are way louder and from the moment they set up to take the first faceoff, Conor just has a good feeling about the game.

Nate wins the opening faceoff, slides it over to Mikko, and they’re off, breaking into Chicago’s zone immediately. Mikko has a great look, but it gets deflected and Burky gathers it up and sends it back to Cale to set up the play. Conor is hanging back at the blue line, there if Cale needs him, when he sees an opening. He taps his stick on the ice once, catches Cale’s eye, and moves forward to get the puck on his stick and one-times it past Crawford.

Nate crashes into him, screaming in his face. Cale collides with them seconds later, face absolutely lit up with joy. “You did it, baby! You did it!” 

“I can’t believe it!” Conor says, and they skate to the fistbump line. EJ throws water in his face and he laughs as he skates by, grinning before they take the next faceoff.

“With his first ever NHL goal: Conor Timmins!” he vaguely hears Roach call over the intercom. He smiles as he sets up to defend the faceoff.

He’s got this.

Unfortunately, within another five minutes, the Hawks score two unanswered goals. He can practically hear JT growl from the other side of the bench, which is both hilarious and terrifying. Cale must understand what he’s feeling because he knocks their knees together, smiling at him while chewing on that godforsaken mouth guard.

With five seconds left in the first, Belly scores the equalizer. The horn buzzes to stop the period and they leave to go to the locker room.

Dylan Strome scores another goal in the second, leaving them down by one with ten minutes left in the period. Cale’s on the ice, skating circles around fucking _Jonathan Toews_ and oh my god, there’s another opening. 

He taps his stick so Cale will pass it off to him, and once he gets the puck on his stick, he skates fast up to the goal and goes bar down. Conor didn’t expect it to actually go _in_, he’s got his first goal, more than enough to think about for one NHL game, but the horn buzzes and he brightens, raising his arms and jumping just a little bit before Cale crashes into him. 

“No kidding!” Nate yells, patting Conor’s helmet. “You’re on––”

“_Don’t say it!_” Cale yells.

“I was _going_ to say fire, dude. Come on.” Nate gives Cale a playful shove as Conor skates towards the bench for another round of congratulatory fist bumps. EJ is clearly taking his role as Alternate very seriously tonight, because another water bottle gets dumped on Conor’s head. Conor can’t find it in himself to be even a little bit annoyed.

The period finishes without any more goals, so they go into the second intermission tied. 

Bedsy’s intermission talk is pretty straight-forward - keep playing their game, keep putting pucks on net, don’t give the Hawks any good chances. Conor’s pretty sure you could create a MadLibs game out of hockey cliches and come up with his exact speech, but honestly, the team knows what they need to do. 

Both teams come out swinging at the start of the third. Frankie makes an absolutely impossible save that JT turns into a 2 on 1 chance, but the play gets called offsides. It stays like that, a tight back and forth, for the entire first half of the period, but no one scores.

Nate’s getting frustrated, it’s not difficult to see, but that doesn’t scare Conor. In fact, it just pushes him to work harder.

Though it gets a little scary when they’re in the last three minutes and Debrincat almost scores. Nate steals the puck away from Debrincat and skates fast down the ice. Conor works hard, skating fast to make sure he can defend against Nylander, when he sees his last opening. He catches Nate’s eye, and Nate nods, small, and passes the puck. Conor can see the opening close and he’s gotta shoot before the opening closes and he just––does.

It’s like time slows down, and he’s just terrified, but he knows there’s nothing left he can do. 

He lets out the breath he was holding and opens his eyes. 

He almost doesn’t feel Nate crashing into him, screaming “I can’t _believe it!_ You did it!” 

Burky is yelling as he crashes into them, but Conor can’t hear him because the crowd is deafening. Hats are raining down on the ice. He hears the announcement, “Avalanche goal by number 20, Conor Timmins, completing his first career hat trick!”

Conor shakes himself free of the group hug to go skate by the bench and nearly trips over his skates when he sees the look Cale is giving him. It’s the kind of look that says that if Cale weren’t way too professional to be distracted from Serious Hockey Business, he’d be dragging Conor into an equipment closet that very second. No fewer than six guys on the bench upend water bottles in his face - Josty definitely used Gatorade, because he’s just like that - which does a good job of distracting Conor from his decidedly not hockey-related thoughts. 

His line goes off, and the rest of the guys on the bench keep leaning over to tap his helmet and congratulate him. Conor’s face hurts from smiling, but he can’t stop. 

The last minute of the game finishes and the team pours onto the ice to celebrate. It’s a giddy group, and the boys are just as excited to give Conor a hug as they are to give Frankie his. Cale is never more than an arm’s length from Conor the entire time, cheeks flushed darker than they would be from just the cold and the effort of the game, but no one seems to notice. He smiles every time Conor looks over, and Conor’s heart feels ready to burst. 

“Love you,” Cale leans in. To anyone else, it could’ve been Cale congratulating him, but knowing they shared a little moment on NHL ice is a lot. He pulls away and Conor grins at him widely before Cale skates off for the handshake line. 

\---

Conor didn’t realize how much media went along with getting first star. He was interviewed on the ice––being able to share this moment with people who are important to me, like my team, I’m very lucky––and up with Ryker and Keefer. They’re like an old married couple, with inside jokes Conor’s only sort of sure he gets, but the interview goes smoothly.

“Now, Cale had two openings, but he passed you the puck both times. He still racked up assist points, but it’s interesting to wonder why he gave away those goals,” Ryker says, and Conor’s cheeks flush.

“I don’t know. He’s a real team player. He knows that he’s got eight goals and he…” deep breath, Timmins, “really wanted me to get a goal.”

“He’s like JT,” Keefer says, kind smile, changing the subject away from why Cale gave away two goals he could have easily gotten. “Sure is a nice guy.”

“Yeah,” Conor grins. “Everyone on the ice is like a well oiled machine, I think. They all are in tune with each other’s plays. It’s really cool playing up with them.”

“Well, we’re lucky to have you Conor,” Ryker says, smiling. “Conor Timmins, our Man of Stihl this game.”

Conor all but dashes back to the locker room after the interview, people congratulating him all the way.

He gets back in, only to see Emily and Lauren. 

“Spare a couple minutes for Altitude TV?” Emily asks, in a way Conor already knows he can’t say no to. He glances over at Cale, who nods, and he can practically hear Cale telling him to breathe, Timmy.

Thankfully, he can make it through his interview with Lauren basically without thinking. It’s all the same questions from his first star interview and the one with Ryker and Keefer, about how it felt to score a hat trick, how it was playing up with the Avs again, what was going through his mind. The interview is wrapping up and Conor is _so_ ready to shower and get home to celebrate with Cale, and then Lauren throws him a fucking curve ball. 

“So, I’m sure you’ve got some celebrating to do tonight after that game, but do you have any plans for how to thank Cale and Nate for assisting on your hat trick tonight?”

Conor is certain he blinks at her for a solid 5 seconds before he clears his throat to answer. He’s hoping his beard covers enough of his cheeks that no one can see how pink he’s gone. He forces out a chuckle. “I’m sure I’ll be buying them both a round tonight, and then I don’t know, I probably owe them both dinner once or twice.”

“Better make it a good one,” Lauren says with a smile. “Thanks, Conor.” She turns back to the camera, and that’s Conor’s cue to be _literally anywhere that isn’t in front of a camera_. 

He ducks into the locker room, and most of the guys are already showered and mostly already dressed. Z lets out a loud cheer when he sees Conor, which sets the whole locker room off again. 

“We’re all going out, boys! No exceptions,” hollers EJ above the noise. “Go get showered, rookie, you’re the man of the night.” 

The locker room empties out pretty quickly after that, guys either eager to start celebrating, or the few who live downtown rushing home to put on more comfortable clothes first. By the time Conor is out of the shower, only two other guys are left. One is Cale, who he expected, seeing as Cale is his ride. But Nate is sitting in Cole’s locker, right next to Conor’s, and that’s a surprise. 

“Nate,” Conor says, furrowing his eyebrows. “What are you doing here?”

“I was, well, I was actually talking to Cale,” Nate says. “Well not talking to him talking to him, but like, mentioning something to him. Nice goal by the way.”

“Which one?” Conor asks, chuckling stiltedly. Nate scratches the back of his neck.

“All of them,” Nate says. “They were all sick.”

“Well, I’ve got one to thank you for,” Conor grins. Nate laughs.

“Well, about that. I was going to congratulate you,” Nate begins and Conor doesn’t really know where this conversation is going. “Gabe normally does this, but I’m the captain while Gabe’s gone, but I wasn’t going to say anything because you and Cale are a thing, but––”

“Nate, speak,” Cale says, walking up and placing a hand on Nate’s shoulder. Nate’s cheeks flush.

“Can I blow you?” Nate says bluntly and Conor’s eyebrows raise to his hairline.

“Excuse me?”

“It’s a tradition for hatties,” Nate says. “You definitely don’t have to say yes, you can celebrate with Cale, it’s just a––”

“Proposition,” Conor says, breathlessly.

“I mean,” Nate says, rubbing his fingernails over the sleeve of his shirt, “I was going to say that it’s just an option, if you’re interested or whatever, but um. I guess it’s a proposition?”

“I, uh. Wow. Um.” Conor chuckles a little manically. “Definitely wasn’t expecting this.” He looks somewhat desperately at Cale for help. 

“Nate, do you actually _want_ to suck Conor off, or are you just offering because you feel like you have to because it’s what Gabe would do?” Cale asks patiently. 

Nate’s cheeks go pink and he rubs at the back of his neck again. “Well, I guess, I mean, I know you guys are a thing, but––”

“Yes or no, Nate. Yes or no. Pretend I don’t exist if that makes it easier.” Cale’s voice is still soft, but there’s enough of a tone of command there to get Nate to listen.

“Yeah. Um, yes.” Nate glances over at Conor and the pink in his cheeks darkens. “If you want, Conor, I would really, _really_ like to suck your dick.” 

Conor pinches his arm because he’s _sure_ he’s dreaming. There is no world in which he just scored an NHL hat trick and then had _Nathan MacKinnon_ ask to suck his dick. It’s just not possible. But he doesn’t wake up, and Cale and Nate are still looking at him. 

“Please,” Conor blurts out before he can think about it. Nate gives him a smile, the shy, earnest one that he saves for when he’s out of the spotlight, and Conor wonders how Nate could ever have thought he was going to say anything but yes. 

“Can Cale stay? Is that okay?” Conor asks nervously. 

Nate shrugs. “If he wants to, sure.”

Conor looks over at Cale, and Cale nods. “C’mon baby. It’s your night.”

“Please,” Conor says again, but he’s unsure of what he’s actually begging for. Nate probably, as he gets on his knees in his––his _suit_, fuck. 

Nate looks up at him. “You’ve gotta drop your towel before I can do anything, Timmins.” He’s looking up through his lashes and Conor’s hard already and this is almost too overwhelming. “You can sit down if you want to, but you probably won’t be able to fuck my throat if you do.”

Cale and Conor both make a noise at that.

“Holy _fuck_, Nathan,” Cale says. It makes Nate’s cheeks flush and he ducks his head.

“You don’t have to,” Nate says, almost bashfully. “Just, sometimes guys want to, and I like it, so, you know, it’s an option.” 

Conor’s response to that could politely be called a whimper. “Oh my god. That sounds incredible, but also, I think I might fall over if we do that, so I think I’m going to sit and let you do your thing.” He almost says something about fucking Nate’s throat next time, but this is a one-time thing, so he bites that back.

“Alright, well, drop the towel and sit down then,” Nate says. 

Conor does as he’s told, settling into his locker. He’s not all the way hard yet, but Nate doesn’t seem at all phased. He shifts in between Conor’s thighs and looks up at him. “You can pull my hair if you want,” he says, and then takes Conor’s dick in his mouth. 

It’s hot and wet and the suction is so good, Conor can tell it’s not going to take any time at all to get fully hard. He settles one hand on Nate’s head, threading his fingers through his hair, and Nate hums. The vibration feels incredible around Conor’s dick and he groans. 

“Does that feel good, Con?” Cale asks, and oh, they’re doing that, are they? Conor grips Nate’s hair harder, shaking a little as he nods. “Yeah. Talked to me before you got out of the shower about how he wanted to do this.”

“Fuck, Cale,” Conor whines. “Keep going, please.”

“Yeah? What about you, Nate? How long have you wanted to do this? Thinking about taking Conor apart with your mouth only to have us put him back together,” Cale says lightly, as if he isn’t completely rocking Conor’s world right now. “Look at you, in your suit, looking all nice and done up, on your knees in front of the game winner.”

Conor takes a look and sees Nate’s cheeks flushed dark as he takes Conor down his throat. His dick is straining in his dress pants and god, he almost looks used already, his hair mussed from Conor’s fingers. Conor reaches forward and swipes at a line of drool that’s dripped out of the corner of Nate’s mouth and drags it across his lip. 

“He’s gorgeous, isn’t he? Did the same thing for OC, too,” Cale says. “So eager to please.”

Nate’s eyes flutter shut as Cale praises him. Conor gives his hair a tug. “Look at me,” he gets out, and Nate does, big blue eyes staring up at him. “He’s right, you know. You’re so good, you look so good like this, holy fuck. You’re so good to all of us all the time.” 

Nate moans and Conor’s hips jump. He immediately stills them and apologizes, expecting Nate to pull off and cough, but Nate just swallows him down again. Conor drops his head back against the wall, overwhelmed. 

“You take it so well,” Cale praises. “God, it’s like you’re made for this, Nate.”

It’s like Nate wants to prove just how true that statement is, because he doubles down on his efforts, taking Conor down until his nose is pressed against Conor’s stomach and swallowing before pulling back to suck at the head. 

“Nate,” Conor says, tugging at his hair in warning. “Nate, fuck, gonna come.”

Nate stays where he is, swallowing as Conor comes in his mouth. He keeps up gentle suction until it’s too much and Conor pulls him off. 

“Think you killed me,” Conor says. He feels boneless and a little bit like he could fall asleep here in his stall. 

“That means I did my job,” Nate says with a smile, and then pushes up onto his feet. He’s still visibly hard in his suit pants, but he turns to leave the locker room. 

“Wait!” Conor says. “I still want to thank you and Cale for the assists.” 

“Oh. No problem, man,” Nate says awkwardly. 

“That’s not what I meant,” Conor says. “Or like, not entirely what I meant. I want to _thank you_ for your assist.” Nate gives him a puzzled look, so Conor goes for broke. “Let me get you back,” he says, dragging his eyes over the bulge in Nate’s pants. 

Nate’s eyes widen. “You––really?”

“I was thinking in a different way than a blowjob too,” Conor says. “One that would maybe include Cale?”

Nate clears his throat. “Yeah, definitely, that would be––that would be good.”

“Just good?” Conor teases.

“Really good.” Nate’s eyes are dark as he looks at Conor. 

“It might be really good,” Cale says, dragging his eyes over the two of them. “But we’re not fucking in the locker room. I draw the line there. Let’s get back to our apartment, and then we’ll… thank you.” 

“Yes, sir,” Conor smirks.

“Get dressed, then.”

Cale pulls out his phone and quickly types something out as Conor puts his suit back on. He pockets his phone and pulls out his keys. “Want a ride, Nate, or do you want to drive yourself?”

Nate looks over at Conor and winks. “I think I want a ride.” 

Conor goes hot all over. “Dude, I _just_ came, that’s not fair.” 

“You’ve got the whole ride home to recover,” Cale says with a smirk. “You’ll be fine.” With that, he walks out of the locker room, and Conor and Nate trail after him. 

Cale tosses his phone on the center console as he slides into the driver’s seat. It buzzes repeatedly. “Are you going to get that?” Nate asks. 

“Nah,” Cale says, backing out of his parking spot. “It’s just EJ.”

Conor looks over at the phone, and sure enough, 🐎🐎 EJ 🐎🐎 is calling. When the call goes to voicemail, the screen shows 5 missed calls and 13 messages, all from him. “Why is EJ calling?” Conor asks. “And why are we ignoring him?”

“I told him we weren’t going out tonight because we had some... celebrations to attend to.” 

He opens the voicemail and hears EJ’s voice with thumping music in the background. “I’m fining each of you fifty dollars for each call you don’t pick up! Bye!”

Conor looks down at his phone. 

_Five missed calls_, and he’s just about to text back when his phone rings again.

“Erik, I swear to God,” Conor says, putting the phone on speaker.

“You’ve gotta come out with us! It’s tradition! With Gabe not here being able to fulfill the other one––”

“Actually,” Conor fills in. “Nate… did.”

“He _did_, did he?” EJ says, and Conor can hear his smirk. “Finally told them, did you, Nate Dogg?”

“Shut up, Erik,” Nate groans.

“Ah, well. Hide your hickies well or use frozen spoons, because you’ll be fined if we can see them on Monday! Bye!” EJ says, hanging up before Conor can say another word.

“Well,” Conor says, staring at his phone,”I guess we’ve got permission to skip the bar then.” 

“That’s probably good,” Nate says from the back seat. “I honestly wouldn’t put it past him to have shown up at your apartment if we ignored him too long.”

“You mean I should tell him not to come join in on the fun?” Cale says. Conor smacks his thigh. 

“Don’t even joke about that.”

Cale grabs Conor’s wrist and gives it a squeeze. “Don’t worry baby, it’s just us and Nate tonight. I’ve got you.” 

Conor’s breath hitches and he feels his body relax a little. “Okay, yeah, okay.”

“See Nate?” Cale smirks. “He’s easy for it.”

“Hey!” Conor says weakly, flushing. He can’t really deny something that’s so true. 

“Excited for it,” Nate says, grinning at Conor when he turns around. “Seemed easy for it in the locker room.”

“Guys,” Conor lets himself whine just a little. “I don’t see how this is fair.”

“I don’t remember anyone promising that it would be fair tonight, just that it would be fun. We like that you’re so easy for it, baby. Gonna take such good care of you.” Cale punctuates his remarks with another squeeze to Conor’s wrist. 

“Fine,” Conor says, pretending to pout, but Nate reaches over his seat and squeezes his shoulder. Conor turns back to face him, and Nate winks. It’s adorably awkward more than sexy, but it helps Conor settle for the rest of the drive. 

Cale pulls into the parking lot and they head up to the apartment. The air in the elevator is thick with tension and it really hits Conor that they’re actually doing this. He’s really going back to the apartment he shares with his boyfriend to have sex with their teammate. Specifically, they’re going to have celebratory hat trick sex with Nathan _fucking_ MacKinnon. 

Conor’s pressed up against the door the moment it shuts, and Cale’s mouth is on his neck. “God, baby, you were so _fucking_ hot tonight.”

“He was,” Nate says, stepping up and nosing along Conor’s jawline. Conor whines, grinding up against Cale. “He was so _good._”

“Please, please, please,” Conor begs. “Need you, need you both.”

“Yeah?” Nate asks. “What do you want?”

“Tell us, Con,” Cale says.

“Want Nate to ride me,” Conor flushes. “Want Cale to be there, want him to––”

“To what, baby?” Cale asks. “It’s your night.”

“Wanna get you off, but want you to be next to me, please,” Conor says, his cheeks flushing dark.

“We can do that, baby.” Cale sucks a hickey onto Conor’s neck and then pulls away. “C’mon, bed.”

Conor finds one of Nate’s hands and grabs on, leading him to the bedroom as he trails after Cale. 

“I think everyone here is wearing too many clothes,” Cale says as he sits down on the edge of the bed to pull off his shoes. “Do you guys maybe want to fix that?” 

“I can make that happen,” Nate says. He reels Conor in by his tie and kisses him as he slides his hands under Conor’s jacket, pushing it off his shoulders and onto the floor. He manages to get Conor’s tie untied and start on the buttons of his shirt without breaking the kiss. If Conor wasn’t so distracted by the feeling of Nate’s lips on his, he would be really impressed at his dexterity. 

“Fuck,” Conor hears Cale say, and when he pulls back, Cale is palming himself over his boxers. “You guys are so fucking hot.” 

“Have you seen yourself?” Nate asks, kissing his way along Conor’s jaw as he starts to work on Conor’s belt. “You both are just so fucking gorgeous.”

“Nate,” Conor says, breathless. 

Cale smirks. “You gonna get Nate undressed?” 

Conor flushes dark, his eyes widening. “Yeah. Yeah, can I?”

“God, yes,” Nate says. 

Conor works at Nate’s tie and the buttons of his shirt and Nate pushes the shirt off as Conor unbuckles Nate’s belt and pushes his pants down. Nate toes off his shoes and kicks off his pants while Conor shucks his own, and suddenly they’re all down to just boxers. 

Conor sprawls on the bed and pulls Nate down on top of him. Nate is warm and solid, and the press of skin on skin is electrifying. They kiss, hot and messy, and it’s so good, but Conor needs more. He reaches out blindly towards Cale until his hand lands on Cale’s thigh. Cale puts his hand over Conor’s and threads their fingers together. 

“Look at you two. This is the hottest thing I’ve ever seen,” Cale says, and Conor whimpers against Nate’s mouth. 

“Fuck,” Conor begs. “Fuck, I need you.”

“We’re right here, Con,” Nate says, sliding his thigh between Conor’s legs, smirking when he gasps and grinds down against it. “What do you want to do?”

Cale smiles, kneeling up and kissing Nate. “I think he wants us to take over, huh?”

The kiss makes Conor go hot all over, arousal coursing through him. If he had thought he wouldn’t be ready to go by the time they got home, he was sorely mistaken. Conor reaches forward, cupping his hand over Nate’s boxers and squeezing gently, preening when Nate lets out a moan.

“Fuck, Conor.”

“That’s the idea,” Cale says with a wicked grin. “Still want to get a ride?”

Conor feels Nate’s dick twitch in his hand and Nate groans. 

“I think that’s a yes,” Conor says, and Nate nods. 

“Yeah, god. Want you to fuck me.” Nate’s voice has gone raspy and Conor is glad he’s not the only one who seems completely wrecked before they’ve even started. 

Cale reaches over and runs his hand over Nate’s back, pausing at the waistband of his boxers. “Do you want Conor to get you ready? He’s good with his fingers.” 

Nate flushes dark, looking over at Conor, who preens. He just wants to make Nate feel good, make Cale feel good. “I definitely don’t get any complaints from Cale.”

“Please,” Nate says, grinding down against Conor’s thigh. “It’s not as good myself.”

Cale knee-walks over to the side table and pulls out lube and condoms, tossing them on the bed. Conor picks the bottle up and smiles. “You’re going to have to take your boxers off before I do anything, Mackinnon.”

Nate smiles, ducking his head. “Did you use my chirp on me?”

“Maybe I did,” Conor says, smiling when he hears Cale chuckle.

Nate shifts around to pull his boxers off, then tugs at Conor’s. “These need to go too, I think.” 

Conor obligingly lifts his hips and Nate tugs Conor’s underwear off and climbs back into his lap. Conor takes a minute to just appreciate the view of a naked Nathan MacKinnon in his lap. The flush in Nate’s cheeks has spread down to leave his chest splotchy pink, and his dick is hard and red, curving up towards his frankly absurd abs. 

“God, look at you,” Conor murmurs. He reaches out and wraps his hand around Nate’s dick, gives it a slow stroke and Nate groans. 

“C’mon, Conor, get your fingers in me,” Nate whines, squirming. 

“Hmmmm, that doesn’t sound like how we ask for things, Nathan,” Cale chides. “Ask nicely for what you want.”

Nate lets out a broken whimper at that. “Please?” he says, eyes wide. “Please, Conor, can I have your fingers?”

Conor is going to combust. He likes it when Cale takes charge, but him directing Nate, and the way Nate reacted is hotter than he could have ever imagined.

“On the bed, c’mon Nate, I’ve got you,” Conor says, rolling them over gently so Nate’s on his back. Conor settles between Nate’s legs and looks over at Cale.

“Yes, Con?” Cale says. “You’re not going to keep him waiting, are you?”

Conor flushes, shaking his head. He grabs the bottle of lube and squeezes some out on his hand. He trails his finger up the inside of Nate’s thigh and moves in between his cheeks, rubbing against his hole. Nate gasps, his hips rolling down against Conor’s finger as he pushes in, and god, this is almost too much.

“Seems like he likes it almost as much as you do, baby,” Cale says, and Conor can hear him smirking. 

Conor can’t even respond to the chirp. “He feels so good, Cale, holy _fuck_.” He crooks his finger, searching for Nate’s prostate. Nate keens when he finds it.

“More, Conor, more. C’mon, I can take it, please,” Nate begs, rolling his hips again. 

“Good boy,” Cale praises, leaning down to kiss Nate. “Give him another finger, baby, he asked so nicely.” 

Conor presses another finger in, groaning as Nate opens easily for him. He goes right for Nate’s prostate, rubbing against it again and again as Nate whines and precome drips onto his stomach. He can’t help but lean forward and lick the head of Nate’s dick clean, which earns him another whimper. 

“Come on, you can’t do that,” Nate covers his eyes with his arm, and Conor grins, sucking over the head of Nate’s dick. “That’s not _fair_.”

“I’m sorry, I thought we weren’t going to worry about making it fair,” Cale says, raising an eyebrow. “Only that it was going to be fun.”

“Oh,” Nate whimpers, his hips jerking just a little. He whines, gripping the comforter white knuckled when Conor pushes in a third finger. 

It doesn’t take long at all for Nate to start begging. “Please, c’mon, wanna ride you, Con.”

Conor looks over at Cale. “What do you think, baby? Is he ready?” 

Cale snags a condom from the bed in response. “I think you’d better give him what he asked for. Let’s get you ready for him.” He pats the bed, and Conor climbs up next to him, leaning against the headboard. Cale leans in for a kiss, licking into Conor’s mouth and nipping at his lips. Conor is distracted enough by the kiss that he doesn’t notice Cale opening the condom until he feels Cale’s hand on his dick, rolling it down. 

Conor breaks the kiss with a groan, and Cale grins at him. He squeezes some lube into his hand and uses it to slick up Conor’s dick. Conor does his best not to thrust into Cale’s hand as he does. 

“Alright, Nate, he’s all yours,” Cale says with one last stroke to Conor’s dick. Nate pushes himself up onto his knees and crawls into Conor’s lap. He raises up and reaches behind himself to line up with Conor’s cock and sinks slowly down. Everything is hot and tight and Conor is gripping Nate’s hips tight enough that he might leave bruises, but the way Nate is panting and working himself down makes Conor think he probably doesn’t mind. 

“Fuck, Nate,” Conor moans, willing himself to stay still until Nate says he’s okay to move. “You’re so tight––”

“Yeah?” Nate preens, rolling his hips in a circle. “Fuck, Conor. Move, please.”

Nate lifts up and slams down again, and both he and Conor make a punched out noise. “Fuck, oh my god, Nate.” Conor whines when Nate clenches down around him.

“Is he good? Tell me how it feels, Con. Tell Nate how good he is.” Cale says, grazing his hand over Conor’s chest and tweaking his nipples.

“So good, shit, oh my god, you both are amazing,” Conor begs, meeting Nate’s hips every time he drops back down. 

“You both look so good,” Cale says, gripping the bulge in his boxers. “I want to watch you forever. God, porn is never going to be good enough after this.” 

Conor moans and thrusts hard up into Nate. “You can’t just say shit like that, baby.” 

“But it’s true,” Cale says, sliding his hand into his boxers. “You two are so hot.” 

“Wait,” Conor says, reaching out to grab Cale’s arm. “Don’t come, I want you to fuck me after this.” 

Nate gives a particularly filthy grind of his hips when he drops back down. “Fuck, I want to see that,” he says. 

“It’s your night, baby,” Cale says. “If that’s what you want, I’ll fuck you. But you have to make Nate come first.”

“Yeah, I can do that,” Conor says, planting his feet on the bed for better leverage. He settles both hands back on Nate’s hips, pulling Nate down as he thrusts up. Nate leans forward and plants a hand on Conor’s chest, and it must do something good to the angle, because he shouts at the next thrust. 

“Fuck, Conor, yeah. Right there, come on, I’m so close,” he says, working himself up and down. 

“C’mon Nate,” Cale says, his voice silky sweet, leaning over to suck a mark at Nate’s neck. “Come for us.”

Nate gasps, whining as he comes over his fist and onto Conor’s abs. Conor whimpers, his skin electric at the thought that he did a good job, thrusting up into Nate a handful of times before coming hard into the condom. 

“You both did so well,” Cale says, smiling as both of them come down. He reaches down and grips his cock through his boxers again before Nate stops him.

“Well,” Nate says, his cheeks flushed still. “I have a question to ask.”

“Yes?” Cale asks, stilling his hand.

“Can I eat you out while Conor opens himself up?” Nate asks, his cheeks flushed ever darker. “Please?”

Cale’s eyes widen. “I, uh.”

“Please, baby? If you’re comfortable, I’d love to watch,” Conor says, stripping off the condom and throwing it away. 

“Really? You both want that?” Cale sounds hesitant, but not opposed to the idea. Before Conor can reassure him that he really does want to watch Nate eat him out, Nate answers. 

“Yeah, uh. I _really_ like eating ass, so like, if it’s a thing you’re into, I definitely want to do it.” Nate is so pink, but he looks so earnest, like there truly is nothing more he’d rather do than get his mouth on Cale. 

“I think it would be super hot, baby,” Conor adds. “It’ll help get me ready for you too.”

Cale takes a deep breath. “Yeah, okay, let’s do it. Where do you want me, Nate?” 

“Just get on your stomach, I’ll take care of you.” There’s something about Nate’s voice, now that he’s running the show. It’s almost like his captain voice, like he’s ready to coach Cale through the best ass-eating of his entire life, and Conor thinks it would be funny if it weren’t so hot. Conor settles himself on the bed, and pushes a finger in.

Cale settles himself on his stomach and Nate tucks himself in the space between his legs. Conor watches as Nate presses a kiss to one of Cale’s  
cheeks before spreading them to expose Cale’s hole. He bends down and licks a stripe up Cale’s crack and Cale lets out a tiny moan. 

“You like that, baby?” Conor asks, reaching over to run his free hand through Cale’s hair. 

Nate buries his face in Cale’s ass, and Conor can’t see exactly what he’s doing, but there are wet noises like he’s sucking at Cale’s rim, and Cale’s hips keep hitching. 

“Please, please,” Cale begs, grinding against the bed. Conor hums, pushing another finger in and curling them.

“Can you hold off until you fuck me?” Conor asks. Cale nods, small and sure like he’s too afraid of moving for fear of coming hard against the comforter.

“Yeah, yeah I can, fuck, Con, he’s so good,” Cale whines. Nate hums, and Cale gasps. Conor chuckles.

“He is, isn’t he?” Conor grins, and fuck he found his prostate. He yelps, pressing against it before adding another finger. “Holy shit, you both. I know what you mean now, porn will never amount to this.”

“Right?” Cale tries to laugh, but it turns into a breathless moan. “Oh my _god_.”

Conor is up to three fingers and his dick is fully back on board, so he’s ready for Cale to fuck him, but watching Nate and Cale is so hot he doesn’t really want it to stop. “Hey Nate,” he says, easing his fingers out, “no rush, but I’m ready whenever you’re done with him.”

Nate hums without moving his face out from between Cale’s legs, but shoots him a thumbs up. Cale whimpers again and then swears at something Nate does. 

Conor idly strokes his dick as he watches them, not actively chasing orgasm, but unable to resist touching himself as he watches Cale fall apart under Nate’s mouth. After a few more minutes, Cale reaches back and grabs at Nate. 

“Nate, Nate, you gotta stop or I’m gonna come,” he says. Nate reluctantly pulls back, pressing a kiss to Cale’s tailbone before he sits up. Cale rolls over and looks up at him. “Holy fuck, that was incredible.”

Nate grins bashfully at him. “I told you, it’s kind of a thing for me.” 

“No kidding,” Cale says breathlessly. “You’re really fucking good at that.” 

They grin at each other, and Conor clears his throat. “I’m glad you guys are having so much fun bonding over this magical ass-eating experience, but I have been waiting very patiently for someone to get his dick in me, and I’d like that to happen now, please,” Conor says sweetly. 

“So needy,” Cale teases. “But I guess you _did_ get a hat trick tonight, so I suppose I can do that for you. How do you want it, baby?”

“God, I don’t care, just want your cock in me,” Conor begs, and Cale groans, gripping his dick. 

“You’re so good, baby. On your back, okay?” Cale asks. “You doing okay? Both of you?”

“Yeah,” Nate says, leaning down to press a kiss to Cale’s shoulder.

“Definitely,” Conor says. 

“Oh my god, if he comes from this, Conor will have a hat trick of orgasms,” Nate says. “That’s awesome.”

“Gotta celebrate the best way we can.” Cale grins.”You gonna let us get another round of assists on this hattie, babe?”

“Please,” Conor whines. 

Cale grabs the lube and kneels between Conor’s legs. He squeezes some out onto his fingers and presses two into Conor. 

“I’m ready, baby, come on. Fuck me,” Conor begs. 

“Just wanted to make sure,” Cale says, pulling his fingers out and spreading the rest of the lube onto his dick. He braces himself over Conor and slowly pushes in. Conor hooks his legs around Cale’s waist, pulling him as deep as he’ll go, and Cale drops his forehead to Conor’s chest. “Oh my god, baby, you feel so good.”

Conor takes a few seconds to adjust to the stretch, then digs his heels into Cale’s back. “Okay, move. I’m ready.” Cale eases out and then thrusts back in, setting up a steady rhythm that brushes against Conor’s prostate more often than not. Conor tries to move his hips to meet Cale’s thrusts, but mostly he just takes whatever Cale is giving him. He vaguely notices the slick sound of lube on skin working in a counter rhythm to their fucking, and when he turns his head, he sees Nate watching them intently, working his fist over his hard cock. 

Nate catches him looking and flushes. “You two are even hotter than I expected, fuck.”

Conor whines, clenching down against Cale. “Fuck, _harder_, baby, please.”

Cale grips Conor’s hips and thrusts into him. “He’s not going to last long after all this.”

“I’m not far off,” Nate says, jerking his cock faster. “You both are incredible.”

“Watch this,” Cale says, wrapping his hand around Conor’s cock and thumbing over Conor’s slit. Conor whines, repositioning himself only to yelp because Cale finally found his prostate. 

“Fuck, fuck, close, fuck,” Conor says. 

“Just lay there, don’t worry. I’ve got you.” Cale grins, jerking Conor off faster. Conor’s torn between thrusting up into Cale’s hand and grinding against Cale’s hips. 

“Please, please, make me come, please, I’m close,” Conor begs. He barely registers Nate by his side, kissing over his chest and taking one of his nipples between his teeth. “Fuck!”

It takes a couple of thrusts before Conor’s coming over Cale’s hand with a wail. Cale fucks him through his orgasm, and Conor grabs at him. “Get yours,” he says. 

Cale speeds up his thrusts and it’s not long before he shudders and comes. He collapses on top of Conor, panting. 

Off to the side, Conor hears Nate swear, and then he’s coming into his fist. He flops down next to the tangle of Conor and Cale. “Fuck,” he says. 

“Eloquent,” Cale says, grinning. “But yeah. That was… fuck. Yeah.”

“I think I might be dead,” Conor says. “At the very least, I don’t think I can walk any more.”

“Well, you had a good run,” Nate says, knocking his clean knuckles against Conor’s shoulder. “Not to ruin the afterglow, but uh. Do you guys have tissues or something? Because I kind of want to wipe off my hand here.” 

Conor laughs at that, which sets off Cale, and soon Nate is giggling along with them. 

“Just wipe it on the sheets,” Cale says once he’s stopped laughing. “We need to change them anyway. Or, we will once I pull out. You ready, baby?” He directs that question at Conor, who grimaces, but nods. This is his least favorite part of sex. 

Cale pulls out and rolls over to the side of Conor not currently occupied by Nate. Nate is staring between Conor’s legs, cheeks flushed pink again. 

“You okay, dude?” Conor asks. 

“Next time, can I clean you up after he fucks you?” Nate asks, then immediately blushes dark. “I mean, if you guys ever want to do this again, I didn’t mean to assume, fuck, sorry.”

“Fuck, you can’t say shit like that,” Conor says, covering his face. “If I get hard again, I’m going to die.”

“I think that’s a yes,” Cale laughs. “If you’re interested, too, you can stay the night. We do brunch the mornings we don’t have practice, so… you’re welcome to stay and be a part of that.”

Nate brightens. “Really?”

“Yeah, dude.” Conor grins, holding his hand out so Nate can thread his fingers with his. “You’re always welcome to stay here.”

“Like, in our bed. Maybe we could get dinner too,” Cale says, raising an eyebrow with a smile.

“You mean like a date?” Nate says hesitantly. 

“If that’s something you want,” Conor replies, giving Nate’s hand a squeeze. “We’d both be into that. But it can just be as friends or whatever, up to you.”

“No, a date sounds really good,” Nate says, and he’s smiling so brightly that Conor can’t not kiss him. 

“So, it’s settled then. You’ll stay for brunch, and then we’ll go get dinner, and we can all talk, and it’ll be great,” Cale says with finality. 

“Perfect,” Conor says. “Now, if you don’t mind, I definitely need another shower, or at least a towel. Anyone who wants it welcome to join me, and also, dibs on not having to change the sheets.” 

“Is he always like this?” Nate teases, grinning as Conor pouts. Cale walks into the en suite to get a wet washcloth, smiling at them.

“Yeah.” Cale laughs, cleaning Conor up. “He’s a real snuggle bug during the night too. Prepare to be octopussed.”

“Is that even a word?” Nate asks. Conor laughs.

“You’ll find out,” Conor says.

Nate smiles, pulling Conor out of bed so they can change the sheets. As they settle into the bed, Conor hums, feeling so incredibly lucky. There is no way he could have ever thought this would happen.

“Night,” Nate says, pressing a kiss to the back of Conor’s neck, wrapping his arms around his waist. Conor threads his fingers with Cale’s and smiles, and they’re asleep between one breath and the next.

Yeah. He’s real lucky.

**Author's Note:**

> Josty the next day: ha! Didn’t beat me  
Conor, threading his fingers with both Cale and Nate’s: both of them assisted, so yeah, I did  
Josty: oh! _oh?!_
> 
> If you want the photo that inspired this ship, it’s [very devastating](https://twitter.com/avalanche/status/1181291248159793152?s=21%E2%80%9D%20rel=) to us personally.


End file.
